


Totally normal dinner parties actually,

by sugarsweetie



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Apologies, Drunken Shenanigans, M/M, Magazine AU, Pining, Slow Burn, big time tomfoolery, more like timfoolery am i right
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-07-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:28:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25251631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sugarsweetie/pseuds/sugarsweetie
Summary: In a messy AU where the monsters aren't real, they all work for a magazine called 'the observer', no one is dead and they're all co-dependant co-workers and reluctant friends. Helen Distortion (not her surname) decides to throw a dinner party, for team spirit!*It's been a few months since Martin had worked at the magazine, and he's come back to sweet awkward Jon, the unbridled chaos that is Helen and overall Things are Not the same. How does one handle the crush they forcibly, painstakingly, got over, doing a 180, giving you a heartfelt apology, and suddenly deciding he's nice and he likes you?What gave Jon a personality change? When did Daisy start growling in friendly ways and not hating everyone? Where is the itemized history of Jon's dating history and can Martin have it? Are Tim and Sasha getting it on in alcoves and if so, why was Helen not invited? At the observer, the truth will be observed... At least that's the motto Elias is trying to sell.My working title was 'dinner for tooth' so let that warn you of how ridiculous this is before you click.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, others vaugely implied
Comments: 28
Kudos: 54





	1. Dinner at Helen's

**Author's Note:**

> This might be crack, the characterisations might be a mess, but I had my fun! I like the idea of a world with these characters and the shenanigans they could get up to without the uh... Monsters/apocalypse things.... going on.... 
> 
> Helen is distortion Helen because she is the love of my life, and my passion for her and the idea of her hosting a dinner party is what sparked this nonsense. Michael Shelley and Gerard Keay are also alive and fine because I want them to be!!! 
> 
> This is my first tma fic, and my first fic in a while, the spirit of the distortion truly compelled me. Pls be forgiving I am not a writer I am merely a fool. 
> 
> Please enjoy! And let me know what you think!!

Helen’s dinner party is the kind of train wreck you can’t look away from.

“So, the starter! Darlings you will love the starter, it’s a blue cheese fish mousse. I read about it in a novel - I know it’s hard being an intellectual, inspiration comes at you constantly! It was this erotic novel called -“

It’s hard to decide what makes it get so absolutely out of hand. Whether it’s the costumes she has prepared for everyone - “think about it, I couldn’t trust Jon or Gerry to commit to a theme!” - or the cabaret act that performs in the corner of the rather cramped dining room - “I’m a firm believer in all that jazz!” - or whether it’s her absolutely massive alcohol collection, her chaotic drinking games - “last to raise their left hand and spank the person next to them with their right hand hard enough to make them say ow DOWNS IT, and everyone who says ow takes a shot!” - and the way everyone is truly smashed by 9:45pm... but it was a train wreck on a line no one was ever willing to board again.

Nobody reasonable that is. By the end of that night everyone that worked at The Observer was staggering out, arms around each other, loudly talking about how they should do this more often. That was Tim at least. Daisy was growling, in her affectionate but still growly way, at Jon, who was mumbling back in his new soft and sincere way. Basira was helping Sasha keep Tim up, as Helen cackled and joked. Michael was whispering to Gerry, who was laughing louder than they’d ever heard him. And Martin was walking slowly beside Melanie who was telling him a gossipy story she heard from Basira about Tim and Sasha definitely getting it on in an alcove.

The dinner party was, despite so many absolutely buck wild pieces of content, a great time. Nobody knew why Helen had a photo booth in her back garden next to a koi pond and a trampoline - she described her home aesthetic as deluxe chaotic hedonism - but the photos that were taken showed a lot of love, a lot of friendship, and a lot of good times.

The theme had been Moulin Rouge, and Helen had let everyone choose between ‘bohemian’ and ‘burlesque’. The looks ranged from Daisy and Basira in matching waistcoats and pants, to Michael in his most billowy blouse, to Martin in scarves with a fedora, all the way to Tim in fishnets, a feather boa, and a corset. Sasha was his pimp, complete with a stick-on moustache, and oversized pinstripe suit. The photo booth pictures were undeniably iconic.

Martin hadn’t expected much from the evening honestly, he of all people knew Helen the least. He liked her, of course. She was hilarious, friendly and nosy, and liked nothing more than tea with a side of gossip. Perfect for this magazine honestly, he wasn’t surprised her advice column was doing so well. Nobody gave good advice like someone who was incorrigibly nosy and unapologetically outspoken. She had managed to get into the good gossiping graces of both Melanie and Basira and Tim and Sasha. 

That said, as they walked down the road, Martin zoned out of Helen’s story a little - Tim and Sasha were old news to him honestly, and yes, the story was funny, but it was extremely on brand. He couldn’t help thinking about Jon. And how now that they were both back at the magazine it seemed things were going to be very, very different.

Somewhere in the middle of the train wreck dinner party, Martin and Jon had had a conversation that was more blisteringly awkward than the last few weeks of Martin aggressively avoiding him and Jon unhappily noticing combined.

But also… Strangely lovely. 

“Hello Martin.” He had said, as Martin walked into the kitchen - stumbled in really - with his empty wine glass, looking for water.

Jon was stood by the fridge, filling up a glass with cold fresh dispenser water. He looked gorgeous - he always did. His hair was longer recently, curling softly over his shoulders, and he wasn’t wearing his glasses, so his gaze was soft and a little squinty. Tim had said that after some upheaval with a spider infestation in his flat, and his staying on Georgie’s couch (much to Melanie’s building displeasure), he had been looking very soft around the edges lately. His facial hair had grown in after he’d burned his hand badly doing something, he refused to be specific, and the beard look suited him. Made him look distinguished.

It made martins stomach clench a little, a couple rouge butterflies fluttering despite the fact that he had been working so hard for months to repress them. He’d thought a couple months on a stint running the food and drink column at their ‘sister’ paper, Lonely Ocean, would be a good amount of time to Get Over This Crush.

But - Jon had been so different ever since Martin had come back. He wasn’t sure why it was, or what had sparked it but - his eyes were softer.

He’d spent so long looking at Martin like he was a particularly annoying bug that wouldn’t stop buzzing around him, so the difference was palpable. The way he looked at Martin now. Well. If Martin was still pining for him - which he wasn’t thank you very much - he would’ve absolutely gotten full on butterflies looking into Jon’s soft, sweet, crinkly in the corner, brown eyes.

Maybe absence really did make the heart grow fonder. It must have done for Jon to smile at him so often now. Not often, no, he still didn’t really make a habit of throwing smiles out, but when Martin would make him a tea - he did it less often now, he was nobody’s tea boy! But... Old habits die hard and all that - he would say thank you, with a smile.

If Martin had still been pining (If), the ability to consistently unlock the elusive Jon smile would have been something he shouted from the rooftops. Or at least gushed to Sasha, and Tim, and probably now that she worked here and was a full-time member of the gossip gang, Helen, all about.

Good thing he wasn’t pining.

He realised that instead of replying he’d been drunkenly staring at Jon’s soft eyes for an awkwardly long time. Jon was just - he was just smiling. Extra crinkly round the eyes. Not even pressing Martin to continue.

How did grumpy Jon learn patience in a matter of months?

Maybe he had always had it. He’d gotten along fine with Sasha and Tim, who literally had poked fun at him all the time. He got on great with Gerry, and maybe him and Melanie weren’t on good terms but that was a mutual aggression. It had just been Martin that always got the grump from him despite his best efforts. 

The grump. Martin wanted to giggle as an image of Jon’s face overlaying grumpy cat floated through his mind.

Oh - he was definitely sloshed.

“Uh - hey Jon.” He replied haltingly after that too long moment.

“Hi.” Jon said again. His voice was so damn soft.

Martin of a couple of months ago would have killed, truly killed, for this soft, kind, smiles at him like he’s happy to see him, special edition Jon that only apparently was birthed after a long break and, he glanced at the bandages wrapped around Jon’s hand, some mild personal injury.

Honestly from the way Tim had tried to summarise the events of those few months it rather sounded like everyone had in fact faced some Moderate Personal Injury.

“Hi.” Was what he said back to Jon. They both broke into grins at the same time at how silly it was, and the tension in the room broke.

Jon backed away from the fridge, waving Martin towards it. “Cold water is real - real good right now. Those shots Helen gave us -“

“The absinthe or her demonic bathtub wine?”

“Don’t know if you can call that a wine given it was absolutely stronger than any vodka I’ve ever had.”

“Valid point.”

They grinned at each other again. Martin’s treacherous heart did a little thud before starting to beat extra fast. He’d - maybe never seen Jon’s teeth before? They were a little wonky and a little off white and there was a little gap between his two front ones at the top. It was horribly, horribly endearing and Jon’s smiles were definitely dangerous to his health.

This was not where months of distance, the five stages of grief he went through, and promising all of his friends he was finally giving up on the world’s most futile crush, was meant to get him, actually! 

But in his defence, he’d been training his heart against surly Jon, who had taken years to even thaw into begrudging decency and stiff politeness. And even that had felt like a big step up from his active distain and causal dislike before that - He was not at all ready for awkward but friendly Jon, the one he knew existed only because Georgie and occasionally Basira and Gerry were privy to that phantom. This friendly Jon who - who smiled! And thanked! And tried to be nice! It was very, very different!

He hadn’t been prepared for this Jon at all.

Martin was the first to look away, looking down at his glass to remind himself of why he was in here, all alone with Jon for the first time in - well, months. He’d been back at the magazine for a couple of weeks, but he had been surprisingly good at avoiding Jon. It had, he could admit, looked a little like he was avoiding everyone when he worked in a pod instead of the open plan desks everyone else sat at, and if Tim, Sasha and Helen hadn’t forced him to attend he probably would have avoided team lunches as well. 

Gerry and Michael had both made jokes about him being the tea point ghost, and how they weren’t convinced he’d ever come back actually maybe he was just an illusion made by the tea gods, and - they had gone on for a while. The two of them could do that, when they had each other to bounce off. He’d laughed it off though.

He had not been laughing, however, when at team lunch that Friday, Helen had suggested her dinner parties.

They’d been outside in the park as the wet spring dried up into another startling London summer, and she was talking about how she was so new (she wasn’t) and Daisy was almost new (also inaccurate - she had just been so frosty for most of her time here, that when she’d been forced into a mental health break, and later come back from a wellness retreat all kind and vulnerable and open, it kinda had felt like a new team member joined.

The break had been recommended after she physically fought a police officer who wasn’t letting her into a graveyard crime scene she wanted to report about, and ended up tripping into an open grave and having a breakdown inside of an occupied coffin.

Again. Moderate personal injury.

Helen had joined the team after Michael announced he was leaving, just two weeks before Martin has returned from his secondment in Peter Lukas’ office. In those two weeks she had gotten wildly chummy with Tim and Sasha, won the begrudging approval of Jon, Basira, Daisy and Gerry, absolutely charmed Michael, and Georgie who didn’t even work there, and Melanie who admittedly did like almost everyone except for Jon and Elias, and generally it felt like she’d been there for years and years. She even got along with Elias. Well that was a strong turn of phrase - no one got along with him. But she was one of few people that could have a conversation with him that wasn’t openly antagonistic.

“Truly I feel like I hardly know you all!” She had gushed in the park, from where she lay with her head in Sasha’s lap, her legs tangled with Tim’s. Michael was feeding her grapes. He was gazing at her so tenderly Martin was almost ready to doubt Sasha and Tim’s ‘Michael and Gerry have a thing brewing’ conspiracy theory.

“I want to bond with the whole team!” Helen continued, crunching a grape, and gesturing languidly, like a Queen addressing her people. “And we can’t really bond at work. I have a great place, and a greater stash of alcohol! You should absolutely all come over, I’ll even cook, maybe, and we can have so much fun! Oh, please guys it would mean the world!” She said, puppy dog eyes at full blast. Even sideways as she was, they were wildly effective and almost everyone gave their vocal approval pretty fast.

Even Jon nodded, his new little smile on his lips. Martin had been so surprised by everyone’s swift acceptance that he had found himself nodding when Helen cast her sharp grin at him. She’d sat up then, squealed with glee, clapped her hands, and started talking about canapés and entertainment.

The dinner party was set for two weeks from then, and time had flown. Now, here they were on a Saturday night, all varying flavours of deeply unsober, and Martin was alone with Jon for the first time in ages and utterly failing at not still having feelings for him.

Turns out years of helpless devotion don’t fade away with just a light couple months of distance! Who knew! And why didn’t they tell him before Elias had poached him back from Peter Lukas and he’d come face to face with Jon again?

He moved his cup under the water dispenser and tried not to let his eyes slide over to Jon like they wanted to.

“How have - uh. How have you been Martin? It’s been a - a while.” Jon was saying, something in his voice that sounded uncertain, and nervous, and truly zero things Martin had ever associated with Jon before.

The temptation to gaze at him was almost physically painful.

“Good, yeah, good. Um. You?” He wanted to ask how his day was, if he was still drinking only green tea or if he’d gone back to coffee like Sasha and Tim had been betting on, if he was eating well, if his injury had recovered, how he had gotten it, if him and Basira were a thing because - because it kinda seemed like they were, and Tim was majorly convinced they were, and ever since she’d started working at the archives Jon had been happier to talk to her than anyone else and-

This is what Martin wanted to avoid. Wildly overthinking about a man who wore tweed waistcoats in summer, had his glasses on a chain around his neck, and looked like the wind would blow him away like so many dandelion seeds.

“Oh, I’ve been - good. I think. Well. It’s been a weird few months and. Well I’ve been doing a lot of- thinking, actually.”

“Oh, trying new things then?” Martin was saying before he could even think about it.

And Jon laughed at that, properly laughed, and Martin grinned at having provoked it.

“Piss off Martin.” He said once he’d finished laughing, and Martin quipped again,

“Ah now it really feels like old times!”

Only this time Jon didn’t laugh. His smile faded slowly, his bushy eyebrows drew together and his fingers around his glass went from lax to clenched tight.

Martin resented the part of his brain that whispered ‘he looks so cute when he sad-frowns’ because that was kind of weird to think about - and also so extremely not the time.

(The voice in his head was definitely Sasha’s, probably a direct quote from when Sasha and Tim had first clocked his crush and started teasing him like that was their full-time job.)

A tense little silence grew between them, as Jon fidgeted and stared at the ground with his little frown. Martin’s heart thumped a little extra hard as he wracked his brains for what he could have said to shut Jon down like this. It really was like old times - in the worst way. The old times where he would enter a room and Jon would look like a baby sucking a lemon. Like his day just got worse.

Martin had kind of thought they could just be past all of that.

He was wrong.

“Jon, sorry, I didn’t-“

“Martin I’m sorry. For-“

They both spoke over each other, and then stopped to let the other person speak. But Jon’s frown has softened, and the silence felt a little less sharp. A little waterier, somehow. Like a dam about to burst. 

Speaking of water - Martin yelped as the icy cold water overflowed in his glass and covered his hand. Worse still, the shock of it made him jump, and he dropped the glass, which fell in what felt like slow motion to the ground, before shattering into millions of pieces.

“Oh shit.”

“Oh - no - let me get towels Martin wait-“ Jon placed his glass on the side - and sped over to the oven where there was a tea towel waiting on the handle. He brought it back over, and immediately knelt down to start sopping up the water in the glassy mixture with gentle, careful presses.

“Boys are you alright in there? Thought I heard a smash?” Came Helen’s distant voice, floating over from where garden where she was showing everyone the corridors she had installed in her little pond for some very confused fish.

“No! I mean - yes! All - it’s all okay Helen! No worries here?” Martin replied although he couldn’t stop his voice raising in a question mark at the end. Helen didn’t question it though. He kind of spoke in questions a lot of the time, in her defence. He went to move his feet, only for Jon to bark;

“No! Sorry, just - stay still it’ll be easier if I clean it, I know what to do just wait there a minute.”

Martin was stood statue still, as Jon knelt down, to lightly sweep broken glass shards off his shoes. He was being so much more considerate than Martin would have ever expected. It was surreal. Martin looked down at the top of his head, his dark, long curls cascading over his shoulders. The bridge of his nose, wide and soft. His long, long curling eyelashes. His full lips.

...He shut down all attempts his brain made to heavily contemplate the image of Jon on his knees in front of him, forced his gaze up to the ceiling. Instead he started to burble, “Thank you so much Jon, this is a lot, sorry I broke this glass! You - you don’t have to!”

Jon meanwhile was speaking exactly over him in response with “No of course, I want to help you, I don’t want you - slipping on the water and – um, falling into glass - sounds irrational I know but - don’t worry.”

He got the water sopped up, then dashed away to get the broom. Now he allowed Martin to slowly extract his feet, before once again kneeling down and getting it all swept up. Once he put the mess in a glass bin, he came back over to Martin with a calm, “All sorted. Helen need never know.” And another soft little smile.

“Thank you so much Jon that was - too kind of you.” Martin said, gratefulness suffusing his tone as he smiled back at Jon.

“Nonsense.” Jon said, looking at him warmly, before his gaze fell to the ground again. “Also, I - I wanted to say before. Well. I wanted to say sorry.”

“...What for?” Martin was a little confused. Jon helps him out and now he’s apologising? It felt like none of that made sense. It just wouldn’t have happened before. In a pre-Helen world, it wouldn’t have. She must have been a little magical, Martin thought. Inspiring journeys in people somehow. Turning the world upside down. 

Jon took a deep breath before continuing; “For - for how I treated you before. Before you went away. I was - I was unfair to you. I don’t know why I just - I’ve always been a bit uncomfortable with people being just. Kind. And nice. I’m sorry that my defence mechanism was to - to be rude. I’ve had a lot of time to think, and I spent a lot of time talking to people and off work and, just. Thinking. So, I’m really sorry. Ever since I heard you were coming back, I’ve - well I’ve wanted to try and make things a bit better because - well I do like you Martin, I admire how - nice you are.

And I realised when you were gone - I missed you. And I had spent a long time underestimating how much you did and wrongly thinking you weren’t. Exactly good. At the job. But that was - idiotic of me and I feel like such an idiot for not. Not valuing you. Sorry. I’m sorry.” He finished hurriedly.

He was speaking double time by the end, flushed and nervous. Shifting his weight from side to side, literally wringing his hands. His eyes were flickering between Martin‘s wide eyed gaze and literally anything else. The floor. The ceiling. The window. The door. Martin spent a moment being stunned by the whole speech but recovered enough to respond before Jon could start looking even more wretched.

“Jon... that’s... thank you. Um. It’s okay, I forgive you, really. I didn’t take it that personally-“ a lie, he absolutely did, but he didn’t want to make Jon feel any worse than he clearly did - “I just figured you were a bit like a cat you know. A little frosty sometimes, a little bad at expressing affection but. Good, really. Appreciative deep down. And I like cats! A lot! And - you. I like - Um. Sorry this is a stupid analogy, I’m still pretty - not sober.”

“No, it wasn’t stupid it’s - thank you Martin. For accepting my apology.”

They both smiled at each other for a while there. Just - smiling. Martin was the first to drop his gaze, and hurriedly worked out something to fill the silence before it got awkward.

“So - fast reactions to broken glass there.”

And Jon laughed again, the final bite of tension melting away. Martin couldn’t believe it was this easy for him to get smiles, much less laughs, out of Jon now. He really had changed. It was still so surprising.

“Speaking of cats actually - Well I don’t know if you heard about the whole uh - infestation. Problem. That my flat had. Anyway, I went to go stay with my old - friend - Georgie. She has a cat. You get used to cleaning up a lot of things when there’s a cat around honestly, broken glass was arguably mundane. Loved that cat though.”

The idea of Jon loving a cat briefly popped into martin’s head and he knocked back some water like it was a shot before his mind could attack him with Imagery.

“That’s - yeah cats are great! I -“

Just then Tim bounded into the room, laughing and shouting followed shortly by a grinning Sasha. They had come to get another bottle of house wine from the cabinet, because apparently everyone was about to start a new drinking game. They whirled in, grabbed the bottle, and dragged Jon and Martin out to join in the game, and the sweet soft conversation they had been sharing ended.

Gone but not forgotten, because it was absolutely going to play out in martins head on repeat for a while. It was a lot.

However it had ended up being the case that Jon was now the kind of person who gave good apologies and could have a nice conversation with Martin - and it might have been the wine - he was happy about it.

But he didn’t expect them to become friends. That was just unrealistic.


	2. Keay Details

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dinner party 2 takes place at Gerry's. 
> 
> In which some things are noticed by some people, some moments are shared by some others, Mary Keay is a character and Martin Blackwood is a disaster. Not all at once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you thank you to everyone that commented and told me this was cute and I should write more!! I hope you enjoy and that this nonsense is good to you <3 More comments and support much appreciated, and also if you see any mistakes let me know because this was not beta'd by anyone but me...

Work the Monday after Helen’s was interesting. The first person Martin saw when he walked into the observer was Tim. He was wearing huge white sunglasses. Indoors.

When Martin dropped his stuff down at the desk behind him, and greeted him with a good morning he got only a grunt in return. He sat down in his seat and wheeled across the divide to have a better look at where Tim was slumped down in his seat, typing at half his usual high pace.

Martin stared.

Tim said nothing. He maintained his typing.

Martin broke first. “What is with the indoor sunglasses?” He asked.

After a long pause, Tim sighed deeply, and replied, “I have been hungover since Saturday.”

“Did you also drink yesterday?” Martin had to ask. 

He was ignored, and Tim continued, “I literally feel like death warmed all the way over. I love you Martin, but I have never wanted to interact with another human being less.” In a slow, halting voice. Then he moaned and slowly dropped his face directly onto his keyboard. His half-written article melted into a keyboard smash that only went on as he failed to lift his head back up.

Martin gave him a sympathetic pat on the back, and wasn’t surprised when his offer of tea was accepted immediately.

He wandered into the kitchen, at which point he saw Helen. Well, he saw neon green trousers and a bright orange blazer, with an explosion of curls at the top, and heard her cheery humming, and then she swivelled around and grinned at him, as full of energy as ever.

“Morning lover boy!” She laughed.

“Wh - What?? What does that mean?” Was Martin’s knee jerk reaction. What did she know? Did she know about his crush on Jon? Not that it existed. But - How did she know? He hadn’t even told Sasha and Tim about Jon’s apology yet - he was saving it for their mid-afternoon tea chat because Tim was bad at texting and Sasha went on the best face journeys when you told her things in person. For three people who loved each other their group text was not always in use. 

The last they knew he was totally and completely over Jon actually, and actually was considering online dating again ACTUALLY - he had shut them down when they started going on about helping make his profile. He didn’t really want to online date just yet. He just threw that in to really convince them.

And maybe himself.

In the current moment Helen was laughing at him, and saying, “Just that you’re a lovely boy darling!” 

He realised she might have said morning lovely boy, which, who even said that? It wasn’t his fault he got confused surely. But then her wide eyes narrowed, and a far too shrewd gaze narrowed in on him. The smile on her face got a little too knowing for his liking. “Is there something for it to mean darling?” She said silkily.

He could feel himself getting red and wished, not for the first time, that he wasn’t so wildly obvious when he felt embarrassed. Or nervous. Or shy. Or anything, really, he couldn’t hide any emotion from anybody.

Except maybe Jon, but Jon wouldn’t recognise a crush on him if it asked him out on a date.

Martin knew that much first-hand.

Martin forcibly repressed memories of rejected lunch dates he had casually asked Jon on and tried desperately to sound calm and collected as he replied to Helen.

“Yes, no it’s - nothing. No, I mean, it’s - there’s nothing for it to - for you to - to mean.” He babbled, glad for the excuse of tea to face away from Helen as he got mugs out of the cupboard.

He could hear Helen hum thoughtfully behind him.

Her voice was more even than he had maybe ever heard it when she said, “Alright Martin, darling. Alright.” She was quiet for a moment. Martin did not turn around.

Quiet Helen was calculating Helen. Calculating Helen was a sleuth of scary proportions. Tim had told him a story about her sitting down with a girl from accounts, and coming back having helped her realise she didn’t just resent her husband for taking the car, she resented him for taking her for granted and actually she needed a divorce. The focus of the story had admittedly been Tim explaining that this now future divorcee had been hitting on him ever since, and he was wondering if it was less morally wrong to sleep with someone in a relationship if the home had already wrecked itself (Sasha said yes until the divorce was significantly underway). Martin’s takeaway had been that Helen was one of those people who could read anyone. He found people like that very, very intimidating. 

Basira was another example given that he had heard from Tim via Melanie that she had worked out Martin’s crush on Jon before she’d even become a full-time crime reporter. He was a little intimated by her anyway knowing she used to be a gun carrying detective, but being a good reader of people made her much scarier. 

In the current moment he was feeling the back of his – red - neck itching under Helen’s gaze. She was far, far too good at working out people’s feelings for anyone’s good, and she was paying Martin far, far too much attention. “Did you have fun on Saturday?” She said, voice bright again.

His shoulders eased away from where they had crawled up to his ears as he gratefully jumped on the subject change.

“Yes! Yes, thank you so much Helen you’re an amazing host! I had a lot of fun - more than I have in a while honestly. It was good to see everybody.” He smiled at her, taking out a mug for himself and one for Tim.

“Brilliant! I had just the best time myself, and I’m thinking we have got to do it again!“ she reached into a cupboard next to him and pulled out a mug that was green with orange polka dots, and added it to the line-up.

“Oh, we should!” He said, although he wasn’t sure he quite wanted to ever eat blue cheese fish mousse again... 

They kept chatting away for a while, laughing at who was the funniest drunk (Gerry, he got very loud, surprisingly physical and very candid), who was the funniest sober (all of their co-workers were clowns, in the words of Basira, which elevated her ranking), who was the funniest in charades (Jon, you could tell he was a drama kid) etc. 

And like a badly timed summoning had taken place, Jon walked into the kitchen. His hair was tied up today, curls mostly in a bun, and he was wearing his shirt with - no tie. And the first couple of buttons open. Martin had to drag his eyes up from the exposed inch of neck to greet Jon, who thankfully didn’t notice given that his own eyes were mostly closed due to it being early.

They all greeted each other, and Martin had offered to make Jon a tea before the man could get his mug out. Jon accepted with a grateful, sleepy smile, and a ‘thanks so much Martin’ as he shuffled away to his desk. 

Martin was humming as he turned to get Jon’s mug out of the cupboard. Then he realised that Helen, other than greeting Jon as bright as anything, was being quiet again.

Heat prickled on his neck as he looked over at where she was stood by the boiling kettle with a soft smile on her face. Her gaze was knowing.

Oh no.

He opened and closed his mouth a few times, shoulders once again starting to climb, before she took pity and continued talking about the dinner parties.

Martin wondered if he was obvious or she was just all seeing and all knowing.

It was probably both things.

The teas finished, Helen picked up her mug and Tim’s and left Martin to deliver Jon’s with an altogether far too knowing smile.

“You go to one dinner party and all of a sudden it’s time for the mortifying ordeal is being known...” he muttered to himself. But he couldn’t complain. He wanted to hear another soft ‘thank you martin’ so she was definitely doing him a solid.

And oh, how she knew it.

~ * ~

The rest of the week continued in that soft, comfortable fashion. Jon greeted him with smiles, he sat in the main office with everyone, Helen would somehow be in the kitchen whenever he was making teas and not so subtly try to wrangle his feelings out of him, though she would stop probing whenever he got too uncomfortable. He, Tim and Sasha sat near each other every day and it felt like he had never left. 

It was - nice. He was more comfortable than he could have expected. He had been so distant, he knew, for those first couple of weeks, when he had forgotten how friendship worked. And felt – ashamed at how absent he had been friendship-wise beforehand. After months of absence, when he had hardly texted Sasha and Tim at all, he wouldn’t have blamed them if they had be a little frostier to him. But they weren’t. It was Sasha and Tim and they were as comfortable and easy with him as ever and he didn’t know what he had done to deserve such forgiving friends.

And, he was making new ones in Helen, and now that Michael was leaving and ‘the technicolour truth’ column was being run by her, Michael had a lot more free time, so he was chatting a lot more than before. And of course, where he went Gerry followed, and team lunch had basically gone from once a week to most of them gathering most days of the week.

And Jon was still being nice. He wasn’t always at lunch - he seemed to prefer solo lunches with people. The little known (to Martin) Georgie sometimes, mostly on days when she wasn’t eating with Melanie, as well as Basira and/or Daisy pretty often. A lot of the time he just ate at his desk, too absorbed in the latest story he was working on to be dragged away.

But he was being noticeably nice to Martin. As in his friends noticed. 

Sasha and Tim were the first to comment on it, because of course they were the ones that knew all about The Crush Thing, and also the ones who made a habit of telling Jon off for being rude to Martin.

On one day, as Martin delivered a tea to Jon, who smiled at him like he’d just delivered the sun, he had come back to his seat with a spring in his step.

The spring faded when he looked to his right and saw Tim and Sasha grinning at him like a pair of Cheshire cats.

He tried not to acknowledge them. But they didn’t stop. He couldn’t edit an article with them just sat there grinning at him.

“What is up with you two? Will you looking at me like that? I feel like Alice in wonderland.” He had muttered. He knew they were going to say something about Jon and honestly, he didn’t want to discuss it.

Tim was going to accuse him of having a crush backslide, which he had regularly expressed was far more embarrassing than backsliding to an old actual relationship. 

And Sasha was just going to smile at him, but also give him sincere advice about not being an idiot again when he knew better.

And he didn’t want to hear any of it.

Which of course, didn’t stop them.

“Jon’s been real smiley lately, don’t you think Sasha?” Asked Tim.

“You know Tim I would have to agree! What do you think Martin?” Sasha followed up. 

“...Yes, he’s a bit smilier than I remember him being, yes.” Martin mumbled, not looking at the pair of them. He could feel their gazes and almost hear their grinning teeth. 

“Interesting that.” Tim said. 

“Very interesting. You know, Tim?” 

“Yeah Sasha?”

“I feel like, his whole attitude to Martin has rather changed.”

“Oh, you know what Sasha, I would have to say I am feeling that too!”

“Wow both of us! Noticing that! What are the chances!”

“I’d have to say slim Sasha! Have you noticed that as well Martin?” Tim rolled right up beside Martin at that point.

“Oh, please stop guys.” He groaned, clutching his head against the headache trying to bloom as they continued their corny comedy special double act.

“I don’t know, it feels like such a big change is worth discussing wouldn’t you say Sasha?” 

Sasha had rolled to his other side. “I would Tim, especially when you have to wonder how that’s gonna affect a guy who used to be absolutely in lo-“

Martin squeaked then, and whisper yelled, “oh my god shut up!” Quickly enough that Sasha didn’t finish whatever her awful sentence was going to be.

The two of them continued grinning at him like cat meets cream, filling either side of his peripheral vision so he couldn’t avoid them anymore.

Sasha simply raised an eyebrow.

He melted. “Look yes he has been way nicer to me okay? He actually - he actually apologised to me. At Helen’s. For how he was before. And he said he - that he admired me and liked me and that he wants to be friends? And he’s been thanking me and smiling at me ever since and I don’t know how to handle it because I wanted to be over him, and I am I really am, but this is new! And weird! And I’ll be an idiot for immediately falling all over myself to have fresh feelings for him like he wants a dick to me for ages but! He’s just as cute and now he’s nice so! Argh!” It all flooded out of him like a bursting water balloon.

Sasha wheeled up closer to him and curled an ankle around his comfortingly, her smile smaller and more peaceful now. Tim was still grinning maniacally.

“So basically... He said one nice word and you have a crush on him, again, don’t you?” Was all he said, and he didn’t even flinch when Sasha kicked him in the calf.

~ * ~

How the next dinner party ended up being at the Keay household was absolutely beyond explanation. Well not really; Helen just decided to pull names out of a hat and somehow nobody had a problem with that. Gerry’s name had come out and Michael has begun howling with laughter immediately.

His laughter didn’t let up when everyone was looking at him. “His mum will be there; you know he lives with his mum. She’s - oh she’s a treat. She’s a character. A real card Mary is.” He’d said, once the laughter was under control. Then he had looked up to see Gerry looking long suffering and the laughter had started up again.

That absolutely wasn’t enough to prepare Martin to walk into what seemed a terrible lot like a summoning circle on the following Saturday evening.

Despite the bright summer sun shining outside, once he had walked up the stairs and into their apartment it was dark, lit only by flames of a ring of candles in the centre of the room. Furniture was pressed against the sides of the room, there was a smell of sage and iron in the air - and notes of something underneath that smelled like a regular stir fry, which hopefully would be what they were eating later.

Martin regretted coming early. He looked at the weird eyeball art framed on the walls, the ceiling high bookshelves, and the heavy blackout curtains blocking the light from every window. He looked at the older woman kneeling and chanting in the centre of the circle of candles with a book in one hand and a dripping, literal feather quill in the other. He could not identify what it was dripping with, and he found he rather didn’t want to. 

“Don’t disturb the bones.” Was all she said, in a soft crackly voice. She was completely bald, with tattoos covering every inch of skin he could see. Martin did not ask any questions.

The only saving grace of the situation was somehow Jon was here early as well. They’d walked from opposite directions up the road and met in front of the Keay apartment with awkward smiles and gentle greetings and Martin had briefly felt happy to be there.

Jon’s curls were tied back in a low pony, with an honest to god black silk ribbon, and today he was wearing a black sweater vest over leather shirt and thankfully non leather trousers. The theme was rock, or goth, or metal or something, so it made sense but. Nothing could have prepared Martin to see Jon in a leather shirt. There was - no way he knew what to do with the information that Jon owned a leather shirt. Leather trousers on Jon would absolutely have sent him spiralling. As it was, Martin spent a long minute just staring at the shirt - it had no buttons he could see, it was probably gaping underneath that vest - before he could muster up the will to look Jon in the eye and force a normal sentence out.

“Do you - know much? About Gerry? Know why Michael was laughing so much about his mum being a character?” Martin had asked, Sainsbury’s bag of wine held before him as he side stepped along the path made narrow by tall overgrown hedges.

Jon had laughed a little then, short, and when Martin tossed a look at him over his shoulder - he couldn’t help wanting to see those crooked teeth again - he had been surprised to see Jon’s laugh coming out of a frowning face.

“She’s - well. She’s into the... occult. If you would.” He had said.

Martin waited for an explanation. They made it into the building after calling Gerry to be buzzed in, and up a flight of stairs, before Martin accepted it wasn’t coming and prompted Jon to expand.

“Define occult please Jon.”

“Hmmm. You’ll probably see tonight.” He had said cryptically. A little smile back on his face.

Ominous. “I think some advance notice might be nice actually, since we are about to head into this woman’s home! I don’t want to - I don’t want to be rude about something that’s like, serious or anything!”

“Don’t worry Martin. You of all people won’t be rude. If I managed to make it in and out of here before - without... reacting... to the - eyeball -“

“Eyeball?!” Martin’s voice has squeaked embarrassingly but with all the images of eyes in jars flooding into his mind he didn’t have the spare capacity to be embarrassed. Eyeball?!

“- then you’ll be just fine. You’re much more polite and respectful than I am. I... said something along the lines of - well, ‘how do you believe in all this rubbish’ to her and she just - she just laughed. I don’t think it’s terribly easy to offend her.”

“Jon please tell me what you mean by eyeball. Jon. Jon don’t knock on that door before -“

Jon had already knocked before Martin could finish his sentence, and Gerry had opened the door before he had a chance to collect himself.

He soon wished he had had that moment.

The herbal scent flooded out of the corridor and hit him, followed by the smoke which started him off on a coughing fit, and then he was greeting Gerry with watering eyes and having to take his glasses off to wipe away the tears.

Jon was kind enough to take the bag of wines out of his hand. Martin tried very hard not to be endeared. The bar could not be on the ground anymore. Basic common decency was absolutely not enough for his heart to flutter.

He put his glasses back on after a moment. And then continued blinking as his eyes adjusted to the low lighting in the cramped room. He first saw the huge quantities of books, on shelves, around shelves, near shelves, on the couch that was in the middle of the room and every other surface besides. And then he looked around and saw the whole candle circle set up and the regret began to sink in.

Martin Blackwood wasn’t scared of ghosts or - demons. He wasn’t! But - something about the whole... messing with dark forces stuff - not to mention Mary Keay’s black hooded robe and piercing gaze - was intimidating. And he wasn’t convinced that ghosts and demons were absolutely nothing to worry about either.

“Don’t worry she’s just doing all this now to intimidate you. She’s not actually summoning anything tonight.” 

The inclusion of the word tonight did not quite have the calming effect Gerry had probably intended. 

The night only snowballed from there. Gerry welcomed them to his home with his usual casual smirk, as though this was no different from any regular meet up, they might have had. Jon seemed faintly uncomfortable, but he generally did, so the ambiance didn’t seem to be bothering him any more than most human interaction managed to. 

At Gerry’s urging Martin and Jon trooped into the kitchen, where thankfully there was the dining table – still surrounded by and covered in books - and Michael was at the stove wearing an apron that said, “ghosts need kisses too” and mixing whatever was on the stove. There were even books piled on the counters, a little too close to the fires on the stoves for martin’s comfort, although again no one else seemed bothered. 

Gerry had told them the theme of the night was Rock, which he had simplified to ‘all black’, much to Helen’s despair and Martin’s relief. He owned black jumpers and black jeans, but nothing that could have ever fallen in the rock category. Helen meanwhile had complained for all of 5 minutes before Gerry had said something about dressing it up with spikes, metal, etc, and she was back on board.

Hence, the Helen in his kitchen sat on a counter wearing leather pants, what seemed to be a leather corset, and a completely spike covered leather jacket, all with more silver jewellery than Martin had ever seen on one person. She had a black star painted over one eye and greeted him and Jon with ‘rock on!’

She also had more of her bathtub wine. Martin did not hesitate to get a glass and have her fill it up.

This dinner party was extremely different from Helen’s. For a start, there was quiet death metal playing in the background, just loud enough to mostly drown out the sounds of chanting in the other room. The room was lit only by candles, because Gerry said ‘nothing like a flame to keep you on your toes’ in the most cryptic way possible. The food was good, partly because Michael was helping him and Michael was arguably one of the best cooks in the team, but it was also occult themed. The main was called ‘eyeball stew’ and Martin was fairly sure it was just meatballs in the stew but after seeing the aforementioned bones sprinkled between the candles of Mary Keay’s candles, and a very detailed eyeball painting in what Gerry said was the study, he could have been convinced otherwise.

Everyone arrived in timely enough fashion, all in black with differing levels of commitment to the rock agenda. Daisy had walked in wearing a black motorcycle helmet she refused to remove, and Basira had joined her by refusing to remove her oversized sunglasses, which had spikes along the top edge. Melanie was wearing a pleated leather skirt and a t shirt that had a skull on it. Tim was wearing a floor length, fluffy and luxurious black bathrobe, with knee high heeled boots, and a deep v tank leather top with such gaping arms you could see his whole chest through them. Sasha was wearing a nirvana band tee and a bowler hat. 

Martin had to wonder when, how and why so many of his friends were apparently perfectly prepared for this theme. 

After Mary went to her room - Michael idly suggested she slept standing in an upright coffin and Martin didn’t doubt it - They played a game called sardines. All the lights in the house were turned off, and one person hid. Everyone looked for them, and then if they found them, joined them in hiding, until just one person was left looking for the rest of the party.

Martin was first up to hide. He picked the cramped study, and hid under the large desk that dominated the room, pulling the chair in after him so it looked like it was tucked fully under the desk. It was dark enough in there that unless someone felt under the desk, they wouldn’t know he was there.

That said, not long after he heard the others disperse, the door to the room opened. He heard someone come in, wander about, and eventually walk back out. Vindication rushed through him as he realised that his hiding spot was effective.

And then the door opener again. He heard it shut behind whoever had entered. Then, quiet, lighter footsteps padded across the creaking wooden floorboards towards him. He held his breathe. After a moment he heard a voice whisper,

“Martin?” Softly into the dark.

And like a fool, as soon as he recognised Jon‘s voice he went to reply. The simple inhale was enough to convey his location, and with a happy little ‘aha!’ Jon was coming around the desk and joining him underneath it.

“Found you.” He whispered. The desk was not that big. They were so close together that Martin could feel Jon’s breathe – cherry sweet after the ‘blood tart’ dessert Michael had made - warm against his own lips.

“Good - good job. I uh - thought I was well hidden but - nope!” He whispered back. His heart was thrumming, unsurprisingly. His eyes started adjusting to the low light better, and he could just about make out the shining eyes of Jon directly beside him. He could feel the heat of Jon’s body. Their shoulders were pressed against each other. He could feel his palms starting to sweat a little.

“So - How long do you think we’ll be hiding under here?” Jon asked him.

“Well someone already came in and out, so I think a while.” Margin replied, hoping his voice didn’t come out strangled.

“Ah. Well could be worse. I think you’ll make pretty good hiding company.” Jon said warmly.

Martin could only reply with a weak laugh, scared his voice would betray him and do something ludicrous like crack if he tried to speak.

They sat quietly for a minute.

Jon broke the silence, with a whisper of, “Martin what - What exactly made you come back? To the observer?” The question was kind of out of the blue and Martin wondered what had made Jon think of it. He sounded almost... shy. Martin couldn’t tell if that was the whispering or if, somehow, Jon was just a little nervous to ask that question.

He wasn’t really sure how to answer. He tried anyway, because of course he did. Jon wanted to know after all.

“Well... I guess... it sounds silly, but it was - lonely. Up there.”

He thought of the difference. Between the ‘before he left’; daily lunches and coffees with Tim and Sasha, proof reading Michael’s chaotic articles, providing a non-expert view on Gerry’s newest band to be reviewed. He thought of daily teas made for Jon and - the couple of times he hadn’t rejected the idea of a lunch with them, had come down to the canteen.

All that versus when he started working for Peter Lukas at a place where no one spoke to each other, or seemed interested in knowing each other, barely worked together.

He fell into misery and this sad acceptance of loneliness far too strong, for far too long before he worked out it didn’t have to be that way. He kind of wished someone had helped him realise faster, but he had gotten there in the end.

In the dark he felt Jon’s hand slowly and uncertainly find his. And rest atop it, soft, for a moment. Squeeze just a little.

After a few moments Martin let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“I’m glad you’re not - I’m glad you’re back. I - you shouldn’t be lonely, Martin. You deserve... to... never be lonely.” Jon said haltingly.

“Oh.” Was all Martin could say for a moment. His heart felt tight, like he was getting indigestion, but it was - it was just a little warm. That warm feeling of being cared about, mixed with the clench, the soda rush fizz of that special person you care about a little too much being the one to warm you up.

Warm with extra butterflies. Warm with extra - bubble.

“Jon… Thank you, Jon.”

They sat there, in the dark, for a long moment. Something warm between them. Between his and Jon’s hand, still covering his own. Lightly, softly, tenderly.

The door opened again. They both held their breath as two sets of footprints walked into the room, and closed the door.

“Anyone in here?” Came Tim’s voice.

Martin said nothing. He wasn’t falling for that trick again.

“...So.” Whispered - Sasha?

“So indeed, gorgeous.” Tim whispered back.

“What does a girl have to do to -“ her sentence was cut off but the sound of books thudding to the ground, papers being ruffled, various items on the desk being shoved aside. Martin and Jon sat paralysed under the desk as the wet sounds of Tim and Sasha making out reached their ears.

Sasha was giggling, and Tim was giggling and -

“Guys we are under the desk!” Jon hissed.

The kissing sounds stopped abruptly.

Tim and Sasha crawled around and joined Jon and Martin under the desk.

Basira, Helen and Daisy were next to find them, all brought to the room by Martin’s hysterical laughter as Tim complained that they should have spoken up earlier, and Jon complained about how that isn’t how the game works and they should have searched the room before making out.

By the time Michael came into the study there was a cacophony of voices, the occasional ‘ow’ as someone’s elbow was jammed into who knows where, Martin’s failed attempts to stifle his own laughter, Tim and Sasha’s absolutely no effort put into stifling theirs, Daisy growling.

It wasn’t long before Melanie and Gerry found them, both at once, though Melanie insisted she had been the one to open the door and therefore Gerry had lost.

“As the second loser, Melanie you’re hosting the next dinner party!” Helen had crowed, as the crowd had painstakingly rolled, crawled and climbed out from under the desk, laughs and groans all blending together.

The date was set for the very next week.

**Author's Note:**

> Comment to water all my crops, literally anything you want, but mostly if I should actually continue! I will read it, and probs reply, and my god do I want to talk about tma!!
> 
> I'm at oliverbanksy on tumblr, but not very much!


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